


local man speaks to the pacified dead

by sunflower_8



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, Heavy Angst, Plane Crash, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:48:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21554932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_8/pseuds/sunflower_8
Summary: japanese boy found in a sea of corpses.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	local man speaks to the pacified dead

the island must have been peaceful, uninhabited and tranquil, with aqua waves gently lapping at the shore. birds must have hummed softly, chirping and perching on colorful fruit. it must have been safe from society’s woes and destruction, existing in quiet happiness. then, like the diabolical apocalypse, bodies rained from the sky; contorted corpses with limbs bending the wrong way, blood staining the sand, bones and muscle jutting out of torn skin… the small tropical land soon became a graveyard. 

in the middle of the bodies, a man cries out, his voice filled with pure agony and pain. amami rantarou gasps out shallow breaths, tears caught in the back of his throat, as he shifts away from the dismembered arm beside him. he feels bile sting his throat when he looks around and realizes he’s the only one alive, the sole survivor of a plane holding fifty passengers. one of the bodies is on fire-- the pilot, he identifies-- and the smell of burning flesh is making him choke.

amami inhales through his mouth-- the only way that he could keep himself from retching-- and hesitantly moves his eyes to look at the rest of his body. when he discovers the cause of his pain, he screams again, guttural and broken. 

his left arm is caught under debris, limp and bloodied. he tries to force his muscles to move, but the appendage is paralyzed by the trauma it received-- it’s useless, now. he shakes his head slightly and refocuses his attention to his legs. they are both crushed under part of the plane’s wing, and amami knows that most of the bones are probably broken. if he survives, he will probably be wheelchair bound, and  _ oh my god  _ he would gladly accept if that means he can get out of this alive.

his stomach is bleeding, a heavy gash that might cause his guts to spill. the metallic smell of blood is so thick in the salty coastal air, and he throws up a little in his mouth. the pain from his wound is unbearable, and amami registers that there might have been some sand that inflamed the area, because the wind is picking up speed and the small particles dotting the beach are flying around to find a new resting place. his entire body burns, and he locks his jaw to keep himself from screaming again.

his right arm is the only limb he can move. it looks horrible-- there are scratches and protruding parts where there  _ shouldn’t  _ be anything sticking out-- and every little motion hurts but at least it’s  _ something _ . he puts his palm on the ground, wincing, and tries to push himself into a sitting position, but his arm immediately gives out and he collapses again. his muscles are burning, and he’s shaking far too much to move, but he  _ has  _ to. there’s adrenaline coursing in his veins like morphine, and he thinks it’s the only thing keeping his heart beating, and he needs that to stay because he  _ has _ to get off this island. the world doesn’t owe him anything, and he knows that, but he has a mission: he can’t die until he finds his sisters. he can’t abandon them, scattered wherever they may be. and  _ fuck _ , today he has akamatsu’s baby shower to go to, and he can’t miss that. he has to get home.

_ with every person born, another dies.  _

sharp, prickly pains consume amami as he tries to move his hand over to his phone. the device has a shattered screen, but he persistently tries to unlock it until he finally types in the four digit code. he’s sweating by the time he finishes, the pain overwhelming his senses. the screen reveals missed calls and messages from all of his friends asking about his late arrival. saihara, ouma, and toujou are at the airport waiting for him. they will probably be there for hours until someone informs them that amami rantarou is as good as dead.

(will anybody even find out? he’s completely isolated, but someone must be flying by to see a pile of corpses. amami gags audibly at the thought.)

_ i’m going to die.  _

the thought hits him quickly, and he can already feel his strength and hope crumble. if he doesn’t die from blood loss, starvation and dehydration will do the trick. the more he thinks, the more his chest convulses, and his heart starts palpitating from the panic. he feels really dizzy, and a strangled sob escapes his mouth, followed by hacking coughs. warm, wet blood drips down his chin. 

he’s never going to find his sisters. he’ll never know what happened to them, why they were gone for some many years, what he did that caused the world to seek vengeance against him. he’ll never get to tell all his friends that he’s gay. he has so many promises that he has to keep, so many secrets. he swore to shinguji that he would always be there for him. he never got to apologize to akamatsu for missing all of her performances. he’ll never be able to thank saihara for helping him through so, so much. yumeno won’t have anybody to set up her magic shows. ouma won’t have a partner in crime. shirogane won’t have a model to design costumes on.

(and amami knows that after all of these years, he should loathe his father for letting all his daughters disappear, but it suddenly hits him that now he’s are going to be alone, heavy with grief over the knowledge that his children are gone, and there’s nothing that can bring them back, because his son has  _ failed  _ and he did too)

amami has lived through years of self-hatred for losing his sisters. he’s struggled through repressed issues and pain that he always refused to talk about. all of his trials lead to this moment, a negligible frame in the grand scheme of time, where amami rantarou will soon not exist, and his abysmal self image won’t matter.

(why is it that he only learns of his worth when he’s on his deathbed?)

he isn’t religious. yonaga taught him about her religion, and he’s discussed the concept with others before, but he never really believed in something after this life. he never lived as though his death would be meaningful, and he wishes he could restart and try again, because, god god  _ godgodgod _ if this is really the last thing he’ll ever do--

tears stream down his face before he can stop them, and soon his body is racking with sobs that he has to contain because the more he shakes the quicker the blood will gush out, and he doesn’t want to die, he really  _ really  _ doesn’t. his eyesight is getting fuzzy and his heart is palpitating, and his matted, bloody hair falls in his face, and it’s really itchy but he can’t get it off, he can’t move it away.

(he used to claim he wasn’t afraid of death, that he threw himself into deadly situations because his sisters were all that ever mattered. now, he knows he was naive. he knows he was an idiot to believe that he was really okay with dying, that he could just disappear from the earth that easily. he wants to stay. he wants to. he can’t.)

his phone is still powered on in his hand, slipping in the sweaty grip of his fist. he lifts his hand and moves his fingers, slowly, lucidly. his hand trembles violently as he tries to type something coherent. he has to tell them. 

amami: i lv u al sm

[delivered]

amami: fknd them4 m

[delivered]

amami: pleas

[delivered]

amami: m so srry sorrh pleas firhiibe mw

[delivered]

[read 3:48]

he drops his phone as another message lights up the screen. amami smiles, rivulets of tears still falling down his face as he finally gives up. his vision goes grey on the edges, and his broken hand still trembles violently against his dislocated hip. he closes his eyes, slowly, the whistling air drowning out his thoughts and his breath. the world crumbles around him, as if it was never real. he’s alone, and he never wanted to die like this, but he’s defeated and exhausted. he doesn’t want his last words to be a scream, and it’s a selfish thought, but he swallows away the blood in his mouth and mumbles:

“i…” he coughs feebly, his voice a whimper, “f-f-failed… you all...” his voice cracks, and then he feels fatigue numb his throat and pacify his heart.

and at 3:56 pm, amami rantarou dies.

**Author's Note:**

> my notes got deleted but the idea was i posted this because i’m sad again (what else is new), i will try to post more often again (but i doubt anybody cares enough to notice the gap in days; i was just busy. probably) and yeah this fic sucks but ya 
> 
> bye


End file.
